Bang—
The door shut, leaving the bedroom in silence.
Alicent sat down, bending slightly, and reached out to hold her daughter's hand. She spoke softly, "A lot of important guests arrived today."
Helaena paid no attention, muttering to herself, "A bear in the sea…"
Her voice was crisp, as if her eyes had glimpsed some unseen vision.
"Helaena~"
Alicent attempted to embrace her, her eyes full of affection. "My daughter."
Helaena quickly turned away, her face cold as she avoided her mother's arms.
Alicent froze for a moment, her pupils trembling as she stared at her daughter.
"I need quiet," Helaena said, her delicate eyebrows lowering. After a pause, she added, "Mother."
She had just seen countless unfamiliar images.
These visions flooded her mind, as if a rough stick had been shoved inside, violently stirring.
The images entered her brain only to be shattered by the force, leaving her memories hazy and indistinct.
Alicent awkwardly withdrew her hand, ignoring the black and green spools of thread on the felt, and sighed softly. "You're a grown girl now. It's time to go out and see the world."
"I am a Targaryen. I am the world," Helaena replied, turning her head calmly.
"You do have a dragon, but you can't spend your whole life on its back."
Alicent, momentarily stunned by the retort, suppressed her irritation and continued persuading her.
Helaena clenched her small fists and stood, putting distance between herself and her mother. "I don't want any of that."
She was no longer the little girl who only knew how to cry, nor the child people mistook for spouting nonsense.
She knew very well that she was not just a dragonrider—she was also a rare dreamer.
Her brother had told her that if she wished for something, nothing in this world would be beyond her reach.
Alicent did not understand. Growing impatient, she finally said, "You are of marriageable age. This is the rule of society."
"Whose rule?"
Helaena's face showed disbelief as she reached for Long Summer, which hung on the wall.
She drew a portion of the blade, revealing its rippling, cold steel surface, which cast a reflection on her youthful face.
Helaena gently caressed the sword, her eyes filled with affection.
It was clear—she loved this sword.
Dreamfyre gave her courage, and Long Summer was her will.
Seeing this, Alicent's scalp tingled, her anger flaring.
"Helaena, you are a lady. Marriage and childbearing are a woman's destiny. Stop playing with that sword!"
Alicent's voice rose with uncontrollable agitation, her already flushed face darkening with frustration.
House Hightower of Oldtown—an ancient and renowned bloodline.
From childhood, Alicent had been raised as a proper lady, steeped in the faith of the Seven. She was a proud and noble woman.
Her father, Otto, had persuaded her to approach the widowed king, using disgraceful means to push her into the position of queen.
It had forced her to betray her beliefs and turn her back on her former friend, Rhaenyra.
That betrayal was a thorn lodged deep in her heart.
From then on, she had clung to family honor, sacrificing and upholding propriety as a form of self-redemption.
For years, Alicent had repressed her own desires, watching her children grow.
She had thought that her hardships were finally coming to an end, only to find them rebelling against her at every turn. Reality had dealt her a cruel slap.
Clink!
Long Summer slid back into its sheath as Helaena whispered, "Mother, I know how to wield a sword."
She spoke as she lowered her head, her gaze flickering toward Alicent from the corner of her eye.
It was her way of reminding her mother—she had grown up. It was a quiet rebellion against the overwhelming, suffocating love her mother imposed upon her.
Only in front of Rhaegar did she act like an innocent, sweet girl.
In private, Helaena was quiet, rarely speaking much at all.
Alicent, however, cared little for such subtleties. She slapped her forehead in frustration. "Hurry and get ready. You are coming with me to meet the guests."
"Alright." Helaena nodded simply, not wanting to provoke her mother further.
To outsiders, she was just an unstable girl.
But to Helaena, it was her mother who was unstable.
A girl forced to mature too soon by her grandfather. A girl who had no true self. A pitiful girl.
Alicent knelt on the floor, eyes red with silent tears, cursing the unfairness of fate.
She had no one she could fully trust.
Not her father. Not even her husband.
"Seven save me."
Alicent closed her eyes and pressed her hands together in prayer.
Meanwhile, the Pale White Wheel Palace returned to the Red Keep.
The Banquet Hall
Rhaegar moved sideways, weaving through the bustling crowd, ascending the stairs.
The triumphant news of their victory over the Three Daughters had spread across the Seven Kingdoms, bringing joy to noble houses everywhere.
The queen had decreed a Maiden's Day festival, and the nobles, sensing the possibility of advantageous marriages, eagerly sought to benefit.
"Your Highness…"
"Long live the Prince…"
With his silver-gold hair catching every eye, Rhaegar was surrounded wherever he went, greeted with enthusiasm by the nobles.
Rhaegar put on a smile and responded to each greeting.
Upon reaching the upper floor, the space opened up a bit, allowing him to finally break free.
Most of the people upstairs were women, gathered in small groups around tables, chatting about various bits of gossip and interesting stories.
Rhaegar scanned the room and spotted young Daeron behind a beaded curtain.
Daeron noticed him too and happily called out, "Brother, there's a seat here!"
The little boy was neatly dressed, his hair carefully combed, giving him the appearance of a little adult.
Rhaegar waved and walked over to sit down.
Lifting the beaded curtain, he saw three long benches covered with goose-feather cushions, arranged in a triangular formation.
Daeron occupied one bench alone, with an ancient book beside him, open to the middle.
The other two benches were occupied by the twin sisters, Baela and Rhaena.
"Hiss…grr…"
A young dragon, Dawn, lay curled up in Rhaena's arms, letting out a weak hiss at Rhaegar.
After two months, Dawn hadn't grown much and was still the size of a house cat.
Compared to his previously frail and listless state, he looked much better now.
At the moment, Dawn seemed lively, his vertical pupils darting around as he curiously observed Rhaegar.
Rhaegar studied the little creature as well.
With pale pink scales and dragon horns like black pearls, its appearance was rare and beautiful.
But it was clearly underdeveloped.
Seeing him arrive, the twins greeted him in unison, "Cousin."
They bore the Targaryen name, descendants of Daemon's bloodline.
"I'm just here to make an appearance—you know how it is."
Rhaegar spoke gently, taking a seat beside Daeron.
"Hiss…grr…"
Dawn struggled out of Rhaena's arms, flapped his delicate wings, and clumsily landed on the tea table, staring at Rhaegar.
His neck stretched out a few times as if wanting to approach but then quickly retracting.
Rhaegar's eyes gleamed slightly as he reached out to stroke the young dragon's head. With a smile, he said, "He looks like he's recovering well."
Rhaena nodded enthusiastically. "I followed your advice and took Dawn to feel the heat of the earth regularly. His appetite has increased."
"Dragonstone is a good place for that. Occasionally, taking him to the Isle of Faces would work too."
Rhaegar scratched under Dawn's chin.
Dragons were magical creatures of blood and fire, and the fire magic in volcanic landscapes was the most abundant, helping underdeveloped hatchlings absorb energy.
As he spoke, Rhaegar discreetly channeled fire magic, letting it seep through Dawn's scales.
"Hiss…grr…"
Dawn let out a contented shiver, spread his wings, and clung to Rhaegar's arm, unwilling to let go.
Rhaegar remained still, experimenting with guiding his fire magic through the dragon's body.
With his heightened perception, he was exceptionally sensitive to fire magic.
Every dragon contained a vast reserve of fiery energy, like roaring bonfires.
The great dragons—Feastmaker, Vhagar, and Vermithor—were like three miniature volcanoes, brimming with explosive power.
From his observations, dragons did not actively absorb fire magic; rather, their large bodies passively drew it in, growing stronger with age.
Dawn's deficiency lay in his body's low efficiency in absorbing fire magic.
Compared to another young dragon, Syrax, who could take in an entire basin of fire magic, Dawn could only absorb a small cup's worth.
However, with time spent basking in geothermal heat, he had improved slightly.
After a while, Rhaegar withdrew his arm and patted Dawn, who now looked dazed, as if drunk. He encouraged, "Take care of him properly—he'll grow into a great dragon."
Rhaena gently cradled Dawn back into her arms and nodded firmly. "Mm! I'll take good care of him."
Turning his head, Rhaegar saw Daeron engrossed in his book. Reaching out, he snatched it away. "Read a little less, or you'll turn into a complete bookworm."
One dragonless Targaryen, like Vaegon, was enough.
There didn't need to be another.
Daeron obediently responded with an "Oh" and sat quietly.
Rhaegar frowned slightly.
Compared to his other younger siblings, Daeron's strength lay in his intelligence and manners, but his flaw was his lack of initiative.
Without Helaena or Aemond around to guide him, he often seemed aimless.
"Where's Aegon?"
Rhaegar pulled Daeron closer and casually asked.
The star of Maiden's Day wasn't the maidens—it was Aegon, who was waiting to choose a bride.
The man had even rushed back to King's Landing overnight on Sunfyre for this event.
Daeron raised an eyebrow, pointed toward another beaded curtain, and muttered, "They put him at that table."
Following his gaze, Rhaegar saw a small gathering through the beads.
Aegon lounged smugly on a bench, raising his cup in self-satisfaction.
Around him were several stunning young women.
Among them was Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden.
The little rose wore a light green dress and watched Aegon with a faint smile.
Her bright, lively eyes sparkled as if enjoying the spectacle.
The other girls appeared a bit younger than her.
Judging by the sigils on their jewelry—Hightower, Footly, and a black-and-yellow striped beehive…
Noticing the beehive sigil, Rhaegar chuckled softly. "Lord Lyman still has ambition, I see. It looks like he also wants a royal marriage."
That was the sigil of House Beesbury of Honeyholt. Little Daeron turned around and leaned over the back of his chair, staring at another blonde girl. He whispered, "Look, that's a girl from House Lannister."
Rhaegar glanced over casually and said, "A cadet branch—far lower in status."
At that moment, Aegon was completely unaware that his two brothers were watching him. He flicked back his silver-gold hair that covered his forehead and boasted,
"When Braavos launched a surprise attack on the Three Sisters Islands, they sent over a hundred warships. It was only thanks to me and Sunfyre fighting with all our might that we managed to drive them back. We burned those mercenaries so badly they were crying for their mothers..."
The way he spoke—it really carried the air of a hero.
Clap, clap, clap...
Margaery clapped her small hands and smiled, saying, "To the brave Prince Aegon, and to the golden flames of Sunfyre."
As she spoke, she lifted a goblet from the table and took a delicate sip.
The two girls from House Lannister and House Tarly exchanged glances, reading suspicion in each other's eyes.
Coming from wealthy families, they were well-informed.
What Prince Aegon said was nothing like what they had heard.
The girl from House Hightower, however, ignored these details and raised her cup in cooperation, drinking along.
Seeing this, Aegon lifted his chin high, beginning to believe his own story.
Not far away—
Rhaegar and little Daeron witnessed everything. They exchanged a knowing glance before blurting out in unison:
"How embarrassing!"
(End of Chapter)